


I Remember Touch

by growtilltall (ThereAreFiveLights)



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: M/M, Robot Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreFiveLights/pseuds/growtilltall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and Guy find different ways to interact with their robotic bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Remember Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This is awkward. I don't even know what I was thinking when I wrote this. Sorry if it's weird as hell. The title is from Random Access Memories (duh) although it was written while listening to Mashrou'3 Leila. If you haven't listened to Mashrou' Leila I suggest you do so IMMEDIATELY because they are amazing and beautiful and feelings. 
> 
> Also, I never know if I should categorize this as m/m or other because.. you know. Robots and all.

_**hands** _

 

Thomas finds hands to be particularly fascinating. He likes how much sensation associates itself with fingers and palms, the thin skin is so receptive to the lightest touch. The human wrist is especially receptive, he decides as a result of his observations of human interaction. 

He sits with Guy on their couch and wishes he could tell if it was comfortable, or if the springs were the sort that dug into the backs of his thighs. Thomas drags his fingers along the back of Guy's hand and Guy tenses beside him, his helmet flashing a dim question mark.

The metal plate on the backs of their hands comes off easily. Thomas pulls off Guy's first, and then his own. They have matching sockets- they're small and rectangular. He lets the tip of his finger linger about at the entrance of Guy's port before sliding in one end of a cord.

The other end fits into his own port perfectly.

Guy lets out a mechanical hiss of contentment, his question mark LED replaced with a pleasant smile. Although Thomas doesn't remember much of his life before their studio accident, he associates this simple act with holding hands.

 

_**neck** _

 

It's frustrating at times- not being able to display text as rapidly or easily readable as Thomas's helmet allows. For Guy, even worse than it could be, given his proclivities against public speaking.

They're standing in the kitchen, and it's close to four in the morning. They don't actually have a logical use for the kitchen. It's been a decade since either of them ate or drank and the microwave, as Thomas learned when they first began this state of existence, is practically fatal for them.

Sometimes Guy just likes to turn on the stove and brew a cup of tea, or a mug of coffee, or chicken noodle soup, just because he can- because it reminds him of being human, because it's proof that he wasn't always this inorganic and bloodless thing.

He corners Thomas in the kitchen on some mornings and slides a cord into the port just at the base of Thomas's neck. It's one of those hidden sockets that only they know about, typically hidden just under the collar of their leather jackets. And, like the rest of their anatomy, the other end fits into a similar port at the base of his throat.

"Take me to the store."

The words flicker across Thomas's helmet faster than the human eye can read, but neither of them are human anymore. Thomas unplugs the cord and rests his hand on Guy's throat, his thumb pressing against the base of his neck for leverage as he eases the other end out from its socket.

"Tea or coffee?"

 

 _ **spine**_  

 

Neither of them remember what it is to be aroused, not in the human sense. They go to bed and Guy sometimes curls up against Thomas as he plugs in their power cords, his fingers digging into Thomas's side, leg hooked into Thomas's knee, pulling him close.

Thomas whirrs in amusement and rests his helmet against Guy's as they drift off to sleep- - -

Guy wakes up first and his circuits tickle with electricity under his prosthetic skin. It doesn't happen often, but every now and then after charging, he's left with the sensation of having charged just a bit too long. It's a bit like a caffeine rush- he thinks he remembers what it's like to feel _wired_. The word is ironic now that he's actually wired.

He settles himself on Thomas's hips, his knees resting easily on either side of Thomas's prone body, and he amuses himself by running his hands along the gentle curve of Thomas's shoulders. It's a light touch, just enough of a disturbance that Thomas wakes up. His helmet lights up with a series of x's and o's and Guy shakes his shoulders in mock laughter.

The end of Thomas's energy cord detaches from its socket and Guy presses it into Thomas's hand, grinding his hips down as he does so.

The x's and o's of Thomas's LED screen flash to flushed red and he leads the cord, which is still attached to the power source in the middle of his own back, to the socket at the base of Guy's spine. Guy shudders in anticipation and digs his fingers harder into Thomas's shoulders as the cord glides into place.

All at once, he can feel Thomas taking that excess energy from him- it's swallowed away from his body in sparks and flashes- it makes his eyesight flicker on and off and he hears the mechanical thrum of his own voice break the silence between them. Thomas gives back as much as he takes, pushes his presence through the slim cord, forces it into the delicate synapses of Guy's circuitry- -

It's silver to Guy's gold, harsh kinetic energy to his soothing pulse. It's overwhelming and comforting all at once and for a moment, Guy remembers what it was like to _touch-_

Thomas whines beneath him, his robotic body tensing and releasing in spasms, heels digging into the bed as he struggles not to squeeze too harshly at Guy's hips. Guy leans down and bumps his helmet gently against Thomas's mouth piece as he reaches back and unplugs the cord. Thomas's blips a few times quietly and they curl into each other once more.

 

_**mouth** _

 

If Thomas allows himself to drift, he can trick himself into remembering what it was like to kiss.

He remembers what it was like to stand in the studio together, hips bumping against each other as they fiddled with knobs and switches of their equipment. He sees Guy's smile even though it was never actually a smile, always more of a smirk because he wouldn't let himself smile, wouldn't let himself be that exposed.

He remembers the first time he couldn't hold back, when he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the corner of Guy's lips and pulled back a few inches. Guy's eyes widened, his mouth pressed into a firm line. They held their breath- both of them- Thomas waiting for rejection, Guy waiting for Thomas to declare it all a joke.

Guy leaned in first after that long moment, his eyes fluttering shut at the last moment as their mouths met for the second time.

It's the very last thing he remembers before overwhelming heat and light and Thomas is brought back to the cold reality of his body now. It was just once, that time in the studio. Just that one time. 


End file.
